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iUbat (Uould Vou fim Done ? 


4 


COPYRIGHT 


Dr. 


BY 

E. L. Macomb Bristol, 

NOVEMBER 19, 1895, 

CITY OF NEW YORK. 


Press of John B. Watkins, New York. 


lUbat (Uould Vou f)m Done? 



^ DR. 

3^ 


E. L. MACOMB BRISTOL, 

“THE FLOWER POET.” 


AUTHOR OF 

Story of the Sands,^ ** Mona,*^ ** Pansy Pear ** Redwood 
Farm^^^and other stories. 



I * ■ . 

I 

, » * ' 

' ' ■ r 





I . A 



What Would You Have Done? 


“Say, old boy, do you believe in hereditary 
taint?” 

The speaker was Crane Cranston, a man about 
town, who had been dining a friend at the Occi- 
dental Club, and they sat, as two well-to-do club 
men will sit and enjoy a clear Havana after a fine 
meal. 

“Well, Crane, I must say I do. That is the 
reason I shall never marry. You know there was 
a queer mixture in our family — where it came 
from I don’t know — but fortunately epilepsy never 
struck me ; it is no sign that it will not strike some 
member of my future family were I idiot enough 
to marry. You see, old boy, I am sort of a coward 
and guess I’ll stay out of matrimony. Will you 


8 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


remain the jolly old chap you are for the rest of 
your days?’’ 

But Crane Cranston had lapsed into revery and 
did not reply for some minutes. 

'‘Let us take in the lecture to-night by Professor 
Trixley. They say he is mighty clever, and wants 
the legislature to pass a law that all intermarriage 
between cousins, people possessing physical in- 
firmities, blood disease or constitutional disorders 
be forbidden, punished by fine or imprison- 
ment and annulment of marriage.” So the friends 
called a cab and were driven to Science and Cul- 
ture Hall and listened for an hour to a subject 
which was greatly interesting. The speaker began 
on the “Doctrine of Marriage,” prefacing his re- 
marks with the statement that marriage is less 
common to-day than it was an hundred years ago. 
He said young men argue against it as if they 
were about to be taken by force and put into 
the matrimonial state. They pick and choose, 
tell of the good and bad points of a woman; 
they liken her to a horse and are sure 
to see all the flaws and let the good points 
go by. They give foolish excuses ^bout 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 9 

living in flats, clubs and the cost of living; they 
do - not marry because they are less young 
than formerly. They believe in Malthus — ■ 
confine a wild animal, the offspring is not the 
same. Cage a bird, what are the species pro- 
duced? Whatsoever upsets the expansion in an 
individual or race tends to affect the reproduction. 
Put a plant in a window: it grows, is beautiful, it 
flowers, but it is not the same plant out of doors. 
Civilize a red man and what becomes of him? Is 
not the same thing true of us? We live too fast. 
Everything is bustle, excitement, rush, bang, 
scurry, worry. Chase a cable car when one comes 
the next minute; bolt our lunches, breakfast; defy 
natural laws^ — and the result is, over excitement, 
nervousness. This is the fault — a young man’s 
primitive instinct is marred, the race is weakened. 
The present crisis in the marriage market is not 
due to the pleasant apartments of a bachelor or 
his club, but to the cumulative effect of nervous 
overexcitement. In England a petition has been 
presented to the House of Lords praying that any- 
one convicted twice of drunkenness within a per- 
iod of a few months be deemed an habitual drunk- 


10 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


ard, and in Australia anyone convicted three times 
in six months constituted an habitual drunkard. 
Such a person should be forbidden to marry un- 
der heavy penalties. With this fear marriage would 
decline, but the professor hoped it would revive 
with the beneficial stimulus it would receive from 
the weeding out of the dissolute society. He spoke 
of the early importance of recognizing neuras- 
thenia. It was a disease that began slowly, but it 
captured its victim and he was as a slave in chains. 
It showed itself chiefly in the brain and is charac- 
terized by timidity of conduct, nervous irritability 
and morbid fears bordering on but not becoming 
delusions; and by functional atonicity of the 
viscera, especially of the bowels, heart and 
motor and physical areas of the brain. It differs 
from hysteria and is more common in men than 
women. It is continuous and not spasmodic. Cer- 
tain heart affections proceed from the brain. Then 
Professor Trixley drifted into what he called a 
“Dual Personality and the Double Brain.’^ We 
have all read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but in this 
instance the case recorded was an actual fact. A 
similar fact is related in the British National Journal 


WHAT^ WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 11 

as follows: A man was a Welshman by birth and 
a sailor by occupation. He was a lunatic and in 
an asylum. At different times he was a different 
individual, his mental characteristics deranged. 
At one time he imagined himself an Englishman 
and when he became himself again his memory 
was a blank to what occurred in the English stage. 
He would draw pictures of ships, converse with a 
fair amount of intelligence, and was bold and fear- 
less in his manner. While in the intermediate 
stage he was ambidextrous and spoke both Eng- 
lish and Welsh, understanding both languages; 
showing that in the English stage the left and in 
the Welsh the right hemisphere of the brain was 
active. Again, the professor tried to show by 
a very strong argument that the present state 
of affairs was but the beginning of the end. 
He spoke of the Criminal Anthropology — cited 
cases of born criminals ; they had to be bad in the 
common expression of the word. Showed a skull 
of a man who was born a criminal and who died 
a criminal. It showed that the criminal was but 
a surviving member of a carnivorous animal. 
The professor held the young men with his 


12 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


interesting discourse. They saw what vast 
fields of knowledge were held out to those 
who would observe and study humanity. 
He finished by saying that in all the his- 
tories of the world, nations that were at the 
top fell, that it is an established fact that luxury 
brings debauchery, and that debauchery is but the 
first step into degeneracy. With this degenerate 
tendency comes the extreme nervousness; with 
the nervous condition of the system, the appetites 
are increased — this leads to excesses and slowly the 
foundation of society is undermined and the mor- 
ality and purity of family life is gone. Such was the 
condition of the Latin race when the hardy Van- 
dals overran the Roman States ; so with the Egyp- 
tians, and so, too, with the French nation in 1794. 
The question is whether the world is growing 
better or worse. We could answer in two ways: 
affirmatively, because bigotry and superstition 
have given away; negatively, because all anti- 
social crime has increased on account of this 
peculiar degeneration. That the age in which we 
live is but a repetition of the old ones, that if it 
continues, the downfall will be worse than the 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 13 

downfall of all the dynasties of past ages. Look 
at the Roman heroes under the Caesars. 
Read their histories and we blush with shame. 
Look at Egypt under Rameses the Great, power- 
ful and mighty — ^wealth flowed into this wonderful 
nation. With wealth came luxury, with luxury, 
debauchery; with debauchery, degeneration. Let 
us see Louis XVI. The Reign of Terror came. 
The world has never seen the like before or 
since. After all this degeneration came a social 
and political revolution. We are entering into 
one. Neurasthenia is early degeneration. That 
luxury produces terrible evils is a truth we 
cannot deny. Ninety-nine women out of one hun- 
dred who seek health from a gynecologist come 
from the wealthy. What a mighty question to 
ponder — Is the Anarchist right? Should the 
wealth be distributed? What shall we do to pre- 
vent the tumbling, the going to pieces of the 
world? Society is rotten, the rich and fashionable 
cover many sins ; they hide successfully their 
crimes, but the showing is in the remorse that 
follows. Man naturally should be around in the 
daytime; now he prowls like a cat at night. Nat- 


14 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


urally the artificial light begins slowly to hurt him ; 
the result is an effect on the nervous system. So 
it is with the woman. Children begotten of miser- 
able invalids are degenerates. They will cause you 
sorrow, worry and finally kill you by some dishonor- 
able course. They will engage in all kinds of de- 
bauchery. In nine cases out of ten they spend 
every dollar of a hard earned patrimony and die 
wretchedly. Degeneration in a most startling 
form has reached us. Princes, millionaires, priests, 
have got it; it has begun, where will it stop? Look 
at the literature of to-day. If a book does not con- 
tain some erotic allusion, something that stirs the 
sensual appetite, it is quickly shelved and pro- 
nounced, “oh, so, so!” Shakespeare is dropped, 
society plays are pre-eminent ; something that stirs 
the coarse, vulgar part of life; crowds go and it is 
a great success. Now what does it all mean? 
Surely we know, one word expresses it, and that 
is “degeneration.” That which happened cen- 
turies ago will happen again. The same laws of 
nature govern us now as they did then. Insanity, 
paresis, syphilis, all these terrible disorders are in- 
creasing. There is only one way out of it all — 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


15 


the middle class will fight the battle. It is useless 
to fight the ultra rich. Make your laws, gentle- 
men; confine a syphilitic person, an insane man, 
a drunkard, an epileptic, all who have inherited 
disorders; crowd your prisons with all these de- 
generates, these crazy bomb throwers — the result 
will be a good one, not just now, but in time. 
Children who are bom will be bright, healthy, 
moral and good. If an old rake comes along who 
is rich and who does more harm in one minute 
than we do in twenty years, shut him up. Let him 
pay a good price to be probated and his money 
will go to support the institution. If any of you 
are afflicted with a hidden disease or weakness — 
strangle it, kill it; do not marry and increase the 
misery that the world is so full of. The professor 
closed and the audience cheered him to the echo. 
Our friends went to the Occidental and in fifteen 
minutes forgot all about the horrible truth pre- 
sented. 

A club at times is a gloomy place, but it hap- 
pened this night that congenial spirits met and 
songs, jests, wine and good food closed the early 
morning hours. One man would think of the lec- 


16 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


ture every now and then — it is this man with 
whom our story deals. A sad story, one full of 
pathos and tragedy — a story of hereditary taint. 

It was the last night of the opera. Mrs. White- 
Brown gave a box party, followed by a dance at 
her residence. Mrs. White-Brown was a leader in 
society and held sway over the set that considered 
themselves swagger and just about right. Mrs. 
White-Brown was Miss Belinda White. Her 
father had made a great deal of money in clay. 
People said he never was known to have a sec- 
ond pair of trousers until Belinda came back from 
boarding school. However, if true or not it made 
very little difference with Mrs. White-Brown. At 
thirty she married the Belgian minister. He died 
in office. Whether she ever wanted to marry 
again is not known. She had many suitors and all 
that — but as Mrs. White-Brown she ruled supreme. 
Nothing was complete without her name. She was a 
patroness to all charitable entertainments, the 
president of many societies; her tablet filled with 
engagements was a wonder to an ordinary mind, 
and there are many. She liked the daily and 
nightly round. Attenamg four receptions in one 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


17 


evening was of little consequence to her, and so it 
went on — dinners, parties, luncheons, and all the 
rest. 

Claire Carrington was nineteen years old. She 
had lived most of her life in a country place on 
the Hudson. Her father, a quieC God-fearing 
man, had had one parish all his life. He had lived 
his allotted time and died. That left her alone in 
the world, her mother having died some years be- 
fore. Mrs. White-Brown had a country seat next 
to the modest house in which the Rev. Dr. Car- 
rington died. After his death it was found that 
she had a mortgage on the house and grounds. 
Claire had met Mrs. White-Brown, but only at 
intervals. So it came to pass, Mrs. White-Brown 
invited her to New York. 

Why our heroine accepted her invitation to 
spend the winter with her, nobody knows, as she 
was country bred, simple in her tastes, and a thor- 
oughbred churchgoer. The two women did not 
jibe, they had nothing in common. It is a fact 
that opposites meet and are attracted. So society 
accepted the fact that two opposites often make a 
pair, and not to be understood often means an 


18 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


interest. Mrs. White-Brown explained it — “Claire 
is such an angel; she is so out of the common 
that I put her in my house to look at.” 

At first the new life was a strange one. It held 
her with its allurements and fascinations. Though, 
she did not indulge in all the frivolities her hostess 
did, she would often wait up to hear “all the 
news.” After three or four months Mrs. White- 
Brown insisted that she stay. “You shall be my 
ward, and no one need question your staying 
then.” Claire was proud and poor — the two often 
go together. 

The opera was the “ideal cast” of Faust. 
Fashion was in full force, diamonds blazed 
and flowers lent their perfumes. Women smiled 
and men lied. In Mrs. White-Brown’s box sat 
an Italian Princess, the Countess of Spandall, Miss 
Carrington and the hostess. It was during the 
interval between the second and third acts, when 
Mr. Cranston made his appearance. He was a 
man of fifty, dark as a Spaniard, large full eyes, 
and a heavy brown mustache. He was hand- 
some, tall and well proportioned. He bent low 
in making his salutations. The Countess engaged 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


19 ' 


him in conversation, and with his polite attention 
to Mrs. White-Brown, the Princess and Miss Car- 
rington were ignored. As he was leaving he 
stooped and picked up a camelia that Miss Car- 
rington had dropped. The Countess bit her lip,, 
the Princess was busy with her jewels and lace, 
Mrs. White-Brown wondered and made a mental 
note that in all her acquaintance “with the hand- 
some but bad man” she had never seen him da 
that. After the opera twenty people met at Mrs. 
Brown’s — among them Mr. Crane Cranston. He 
renewed his flirtation with the Countess and 
spoke but little to Miss Carrington — in this- 
way began the tragedy. A few days after Mr. 
Cranston called and asked Mrs. White-Brown 
and Miss Carrington to dinner and the the- 
atre. His friend. Col. Morgan, was one of the 
party, and the four dined at “Dels” and then went 
to see a comedy that was having quite a run. He 
talked but little, but would glance often at Miss 
Carrington. When he left the theatre he asked her 
if she were ill, she looked so strangely white. 

“Do you know, Mr. Cranston, we often see on 
the stage our own lives?” 


20 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


“Have you seen yours?” he asked. 

“No, but to-night I have been in a degree 
shocked. My life you know has been spent in the 
country, and all this is new and strange. Of the 
gay life I have seen the gilded side; the sorrow 
and grief haven’t touched me, but I feel it will 
some day.” 

Crane Cranston stared at her in amazement. 
Here was a young girl in perfect health and in a 
morbid condition. “Is she ‘hard hit’ with some 
cad?” he thought. He told himself that for the 
first time in years he was interested. He had had 
his love flirtations and intrigues, a man of the 
world, tired, blase. As the days went by he be- 
came more and more interested. One day he 
calmly sat down and thought it all over. “Here I 
am at fifty, interested, in love with a girl not 
twenty. What good will it do me? By Gad!” he 
ejaculated, “she would make me a man again. I 
take my brandy and soda, gamble, go everywhere ; 
all alone in the world, and am getting rid of life 
as soon as I can. I have enough money to live on, 
and God bless mother for that — can’t spend it, only 
as it comes. What shall I do? Ask her to be my wife. 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


21 


or blow my brains out? Ask her to be my wife 
and she’ll say no, then bless her and blow my 
brains out? No! that won’t do; then she would 
have that to think of — dear little girl! I don’t 
want to marry her.” This was Monday. Wednes- 
day he saw her. He never said much, was dumb 
in her presence, yet he loved her, he knew it. He 
didn’t drink the less or carouse the less; he went it 
all the more. People began to couple their names 
together. But it surely meant nothing, they said. 
Why! Crane Cranston was a loafer, in plain lan- 
guage, only tolerated in society on account of his 
wine suppers, his “first night” reputation, his 
thousand and one good entertainments. His 
father, people said, shot himself, his mother died 
broken hearted; why, the man would not think of 
marrying; he was not a fool. People with money 
often “make the mare go.” Society is rotten as a 
rule, secrets are hidden, amours carried on, no one 
the wiser. Some churchman goes astray, he is 
found out, and then there is such a hue and cry. 
But so many are never found out. There is not 
one perfect soul. Everybody lies, cheats, steals 
or sins in some way. Going to church softens 


22 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


to a degree many people’s lives, but just let : 
temptation assail them, down they go. One 
can laugh at the woman or the man who says, . 
“How could they have done such a thing? I know 
I would not have done so.” They have never 
been tried, they don’t know. A woman is- 
tempted, she is hungry and poor, God apparently 
deserts her; she prays until she is tired; there is 
no answer. 

She tries every way to find something to do; her 
system is in excellent order; she gets hungry, be- 
gins to lose her beauty and health; she falls, does 
it to keep from starving. “Mercy!” society ex- 
claims — “how could she?” She goes to the bad,, 
and nobody helps her. She is not to blame, and 
should not be condemned. A man steals, has a 
wife and children, half of them ill. So the old 
story is repeated. He steals a coat, pawns it, and 
is arrested. He was never born to steal, but what 
could he do? A man who knows it will never 
employ him. Why? Human nature is a mean 
thing. It reminds me of English sparrows. 
Gobble all you can, push the weaker one out of 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


23 


the way, fill your belly, sleep well and pay no at- 
tention to anybody else. 

Crane Cranston had been an idler all his life. 
Had no faith, no love, but an aggressive, pas- 
sionate nature. He had run riot since he was 
twenty. Thirty years of good living. One can 
understand that if he wanted a thing he would 
have it. The only memory that affected him was 
that of his dead mother. At times, in the soft 
twilight of a June day, when the roses were 
heavy with the perfume she loved, he became 
thoughtful and thought of her : how good she was. 
All the evil in him came from somewhere else in 
the family — he inherited it. It was like a fever; it 
had to run its course. Some days he thought of 
her more than ever, but some boon companion 
would knock all the would-be sympathy or ten- 
derness out of him by saying — “His liver is 
bad, awfully bad!” The only thing in life 
that had held his attention more than six 
days was the beautiful girl he had met, Claire 
Carrington, and a discussion at a medical 
meeting, where, bored to death one night, 
he had dropped in with the family phy- 


24 WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 

sician to hear a treatise on “Heredity/' After 
a while he listened, became quite interested. He 
followed up the idea, got books, and finally wrote 
an article on the subject. He began to spend 
money on his hobby, loudly proclaimed that 
people with weak minds, infirmities, deaf, dumb, 
blind, diseased, insane, should not intermarry. 
People began to talk; his last paper created a 
sensation. He advocated that monsters born 
should be legally done away with. That museums 
tolerating five-legged calves, three-legged girls, 
Siamese twins, homed children and what not, 
should be done away with, chloroformed and 
buried. He formed a society and people crowded 
the doors. People will go anywhere when it is 
new, will go anywhere to see something mons- 
trous, will make heroes of men who should be 
shot, will almost worship something revolting. 
The nineteenth century is topsy turvy — women 
are becoming men, and men, women. Refinement 
is making sensuality; riches making gross infidel- 
ities. People are as crazy as March hares. 

“Come Claire, I want you to go to the Here- 
dity Society to-night; I think it will interest you.” 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 25 

They went, she heard much, and all the way home 
she pondered. Crane Cranston made up his mind 
that the apparent innocence of this young girl was 
a sham. It only made him more desirous of mak- 
ing her his wife. A strange sense of distrust be- 
gan to disturb him. Jealousy began to ruffle him 
slightly. She seemed as if in a trance ; she left him 
almost coldly that night. 

“By gad! she plays her part well. If she has 
never been in love, what is the secret she is hid- 
ing?” He went to his club, listened to fresh proof 
concerning the doings of this one and that — the 
divorces that were being granted and those that 
would be, took his Benedictine, smoked his weed, 
and turned in at four a. m. 

“What a jolly old dog that Cranston is,” said 
one. 

“Yes, awfully jolly, but a fearful roue. Women 
are well enough, but nothing but women is tire- 
some. You have never married, have you 
Tommy?” 

“No, and never will. . Why should I tie myself 
up and have the sweet life nagged out of me?” 

“But think of the sweet enjoyment of the fire- 


26 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


side, the prattle of the children, and the good 
wife there.” 

“Bosh on your prattlers — measles, vaccina- 
tions, and your doctors’ bills. There was never 
a woman yet who didn’t spoil everything by some 
silly action! No marriage for me, old man. I do 
not admire our friend Crane Cranston because he 
is so damned selfish, but I guess he is happier 
after all. Selfish people are always happy.” 

“Why don’t you marry money, Tommy? You 
believe so little in the married state. Couples now 
have two beds, and the old sweet romance of man 
and wife living fifty years together has irrevocably 
passed away. Why don’t you do that Tommy? 
Come, let me introduce you to Miss Lane — she 
has three million in copper mines.” 

Tommy didn’t reply at once, but in a moment 
said : 

“Not a bad idea. Colonel; she looks like a ca- 
daver; don’t think her liver works at all. She 
could tell me every other day I married her 
money, and I could respond that she married me. 
But I am not made like some men. Some marry 
a woman old enough to be their mother and with 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


27 


brazen effrontery smile at the world. But a man 
despises a man who does such a thing. Let a man 
know that you despise him, and he always feels 
like a toad, no matter how mercenary he is.’^ 

“But, Tommy, you are away off. Why, if you 
should do this thing, would you care and feel what 
other people think?” 

“Dear Colonel, would you always feel the same 
towards me? No! In a little while, when I com- 
plained how unhappy I was, wouldn’t you be the 
first to condemn me? I’ll stay as I am.” 

“Do you think Crane Cranston will marry the 
beauty?” 

“Will the beauty marry him? It is surely the 
beauty and beast — beauty in one, and a beast as 
to nature in the other. Waiter, two absinthes, 
please.” 

“Tommy!” The tone in addressing the younger 
man had grown a trifle sadder. “Tommy, did I 
ever tell you how I became a married man?” 

“No, Colonel, please do not give me any family 
affairs. We have drank heavily for three hours, 
and you know — ” 

“Hold on! I know I can trust you though there 


2S 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


is a difference of twenty years in our ages. It is 
not the absinthe talking; it is the ghost of the 
past.” 

Tommy gazed at his friend; he had never seen 
him so serious. 

“Tommy, one night years ago, I attended a fete 
in Paris. Whilst at the Mabille I saw a woman ; she 
was beautiful, a good dancer, and a coquette. From 
that night I was her slave. She became my mis- 
tress and I showered money, jewels and all else 
on her. For two years it lasted. I was nearly 
beggared. Then it was suggested I marry wealth, 
and keep up my liason. Shame on me. Tommy, 
I consented. You cannot understand; I couldn’t 
leave my idol, and to marry another seemed the 
only way. I was introduced to a widow, fat, fair 
and forty” — the Colonel smiled; it was like the 
last flicker of a candle, sickly and weak. “The 
woman was wealthy; she told me that, and seemed 
madly in love with me; I had simply my poor 
name to offer; she knew that, and it proved it 
was simply the name she wanted. The courtship 
was a short one. I told neither of my entangle- 
ment. I was married. I spent a week on my 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 29 

bridal tour. My wife complained of my coldness 
— I had discovered that she was fully sixty — hair 
dyed and skin beautified.” 

^‘Excuse me, Colonel, but why is it old women 
get in love with young men? I am tortured to 
death that way!” 

“Nothing but nature’s freaks. Tommy; it was 
so since the world began. But to go on. I left 
my wealthy mother-wife and went to my old love. 
She was at home. An officer of the French cavalry 
was with her. She met me just as of old, smiled 
saucily and petted the officer in my presence. To 
have killed her would have been a pleasure. I 
got very angry; she only smiled the more. I left 
in a hurry. She hastily left her apartment and fol- 
lowed me in a fiacre. I had hardly reached my room 
and began lying to my wife, when the door opened 
and Griza entered. I uttered an exclamation of sur- 
prise. There was a scream from my wife, a joyful 
cry from my former mistress, and Great Scott! 
they were in one another’s arms. Tommy,” and 
the Colonel’s voice was low, like a whisper, ‘'those 
two were mother and daughter. The following day 
I left for America. The daughter married the 


30 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


Frenchman, and my wife is running a gambling 
hell in Vienna/’ 

“Waiter, two absinthes, please.” 

The club was closing its doors and stragglers 
going home. 

“Goodnight, Colonel !” 

But the Colonel didn’t answer. There was a 
sensation in the club an hour later. The waiter 
who attended to the smoking room came up to 
the Colonel and said he would help him upstairs, 
as he roomed there. “Colonel Hartly! Colonel! 
Colonel!” He touched him, shook him, but two 
glassy eyes stared back; there was no recogni- 
tion — he was dead. 

Crane Cranston proposed marriage and Claire 
Carrington accepted. The engagement was an- 
nounced just after Easter. Many shook their 
heads, prophesying evil. Men said it was the 
best thing Cranston could do. Claire’s heart was 
undergoing a queer condition of things. She 
loved him, and yet every intuition told her to fight 
this love and reject him. There was something 
about her intended husband that scared her. 
She was on the point of telling him many times 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


31 


that it could not be' she had her secret. Her 
mother had died insane, her grandfather, on her 
mother’s side, was a confirmed drunkard. Since 
the night she had listened to the discussions on 
heredity she was more and more convinced that 
it should not be. If, and her thoughts went on 
into the future, a child should be born, an imbecile 
— my God! the horror of the thought. Then 
fancy, with its allurements, beguiled her — if, even 
so, she did bear a child, hers and his, and it was a 
natural born child, how happy they would be. 
Her love for him, his reformation — surely God 
would bless their union. She could and would 
help save him. The legislature had a bill before 
the house to the effect that no diseased persons 
should marry, and that all such members of 
humanity who married would be imprisoned — a 
divorce should annul the marriage and the ex- 
treme penalty of the law enacted. 

The June roses were hung in great clusters 
amid jasmine and honeysuckle sprays, and 
Claire Carrington became the wife of Crane Cran- 
ston at the country residence of Mrs. White- 
Brown. They left early the next morning for 


32 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


Europe, and were sent Godspeed ’mid showers of 
rice and good wishes. 

“He really loves her,” said one girl to another. 

“How handsome and pale he looks.” 

“Why he has quite reformed, and all for a chit 
like her.” 

“I don’t think a man is a man unless he has 
some of the dare devil about him, do you?” 

And so they chatted, smiled and said their usual 
congratulations in the improved and latest style. 
Rare gifts were given that cost fabulous sums; 
society was so pleased, and society is such a liar. 
Mrs. White-Brown was satisfied — Claire had done 
well. 

“You know Claire is such a sweet thing, I quite 
love her, she is just the wife for Cranston; he 
needs one of these angels to correct him. Claire 
will never scold him; she will hold him by her 
quiet way — I predict great happiness for them.” 

She believed all she said, and society indulged 
her. 

Tommy was there, and he was sad-eyed and 
pale. People said he had never gotten over 
Colonel Hartly’s sudden death. Tommy was 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 83 

quite a philosopher after all. He looked upon this 
marriage as a sin, and thought the beautiful 
young girl would suffer. He knew nothing of her 
past, and only knew Crane Cranston from rumor. 
He somehow couldn’t get his ideas to the marry- 
ing point. He liked women, loved their society — 
yet to him the sale of a woman was revolting. He 
was in a chrysalis state; he needed some gigantic 
upheaval to start the lava in his soul to action. 
He made no uses of his brains, dreamed and 
smoked and drank. Life was such a bore. Physic 
force seemed to interest him, he was just a little 
too superstitious. He had heard somewhere that 
the stars governed our lives, that the moon had a 
certain influence over people, that just before and 
in the first quarter of its phases people were irri- 
table and given to tempers — so he dreamed. He 
smiled at the queer laws of nature, or the queer 
doings of people. How a fat man would marry a 
lean woman, and vice versa. How a tall man 
would choose a little wife, a tall woman a little 
husband. How an elegant appearing man, all 
refinement, good breeding, would have a coarse, 
masculine, vulgar wife. How an effeminate pow- 


34 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


dered exquisite would attract an old woman, and 
so through the list of all humanity with its ever 
changing phases. He was much amused at the 
frantic effort of women to unsex themselves. He 
had read with interest that the present new woman 
was losing her sexual appetite, that she was be- 
coming colder. Was the present age a cycle in 
time and would the country be thrown into a state 
of solid disintegration. Luxuries were bringing 
evils; art and literature making morals lax and 
degrading. 

“What should I do?” said Tommy to himself. 
But he couldn’t answer. 

Then he thought, “If I could marry a German 
girl, a pure, simple, ignorant lass that would bear 
me fifteen children.” Then he shuddered, and 
wondered if it would all happen as he thought it. 
But he would have to live with this woman if he 
chose her — and that settled it. Tommy reasoned 
well, he understood his nature thoroughly, and so 
few people will accept the inevitable, even if they 
know it absolutely. So many with a fault will 
question a friend to find if he is cognizant of that 
fault, and even if you were to ask it and be told in 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


85 


the affirmative, you immediately deny it and argue 
with a stubborn sense of the injustice done you. 
Tommy reasoned that when his relatives all har- 
bored on one thought, “Why don’t you marry? 
It is the thing for a man, the natural way of living.” 
It was because they had found happiness, or 
thought they had — and he felt his own weakness, 
or whatever else he called it. He was not exactly 
fickle, but he liked his freedom and was afraid 
to risk it. He knew very well if he was 
once married he would stick to it like grim 
death, and if trouble came he would grin and bear 
it; thus it would make a serious man of him. 
And so the years went on and Tommy didn’t 
marry. One day he saw a girl whom he thought 
he fancied. Acquaintance ripened into regard and 
close friendship. He was not very susceptible, 
rather cold and calculating in his nature. He had 
latterly begun to look at girls as he would at 
horses, pick out their fine points and bad ones; 
the result was they went by, as a horse is knocked 
down under an auctioneer’s hammer. His latest 
and last invited him to luncheon. He went. The 
table was perfect in arrangement — china, cut 


36 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


glass and fine linen. American beauty roses filled 
a cut glass globe and shed their fragrance in the 
oak dining room. This girl was an only child, 
sweet, graceful and demure, innocent and young. 
Tommy’s mind was very elastic. He already had 
his castle built. He knew they had a certain re- 
gard for him — she was rich and he was rich. It 
was an equal exchange. He was laughing heart- 
ily at something and they arose from the table. A 
little thing happened, not much, but it decided the 
girl’s fate as far as Tommy was concerned. The 
girl’s mother was one of those quiet reposeful 
women, talked just so, showed good manners, 
went with people who were just so — a very digni- 
fied mamma. They all arose from the table. 
Tommy had stopped laughing, he was watching 
the mother unconsciously — she was removing the 
jam, the butter, and stripping the table, putting 
all those things under lock and key. The girl, too, 
was in evident sympathy with her mother. Tom- 
my reflected. A nature mean enough to starve a 
•servant, would eventually starve his heart and 
soul. Those people never knew what ailed Tom- 
my. Nice enough, they said, but a crank! 


37 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 

It was nearing Easter again, and as yet the 
world was none the wiser concerning Mr. and 
Mrs. Cranston. They saw them on fine days in 
the park, and occasionally at the theatre and 
opera. Finally she had disappeared, and every- 
body knew, at least every woman did, that her 
period of maternity was approaching. Why a 
woman reminds me of a mosquito I can’t imagine, 
but she does. She will buzz and spin round until 
she gets a nip of some creature’s blood. Every- 
body had been surprised at Crane Cranston’s mar- 
riage. Why he had married a milksop, as they 
called his wife, they couldn’t understand. That 
they lived happily, they couldn’t understand. Why 
hadn’t he chosen a woman of the “smart set?” — 
one that could bowl, swim, ride and shoot. What 
paragons we all would be if we could please every- 
body! Some natures are so pliable as to agree 
with everything and they surely have the most 
friends; any individual who is in any way individ- 
ualized has a score of enemies at once. If people 
would only understand earlier in life to get rid of 
care, pick up and drop people, cut out and graft, 
what a long period of suffering and loss would be 


38 


VVHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


gotten rid of, and happiness would come to us all. 

Crane Cranston was becoming alarmed about 
his wife. For hours she sat as if entranced. 
Melancholy seemed the trouble. He consulted 
physicians unknown to her, and they agreed that 
a woman oftentimes was affected in that way 
under certain conditions. She appeared so deli- 
cate, so beautiful. She was as if a flower bloomed 
on a mountain slope. Although married but a 
year, he had gone back to his old life in a way. 

His love had not waned; it was his nature. 
He loved her with a brute^s love, a brute’s 
strength. With all his sensual nature he had that 
tenderness and sympathetic care for her. He was 
now in a deadly fear at times: he had learned his 
wife’s secret. His idea of hereditary taint was 
coming true in thought. If, and he grew white 
at the thought, the offspring should inherit the 
taint of the insanity of his wife’s people? If, and 
he hardened, the child should be accursed with its 
father’s sin? He was married, it is true, and things 
went on smoothly enough; at times he wondered 
if he had done wisely, but he was sensible enough 
to know that if he had been branded with a mark 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


39 


of fate it would have made no difference. 

Their marriage passed with the ordinary every- 
day affairs after a while. The few who were par- 
ticularly interested wished something unforseen 
would break out. But it didn’t. They were seen 
at different places, theatres, receptions and flower 
shows ; even the horse show added their names to 
tne one hundred and one fools who wanted to 
show their clothes. There were some jars; every 
married couple disagree, they enjoy the making 
up so much. Claire began to get whimsical and 
nervous. The few pieces of antique furniture 
inherited from her father she seemed to abhor, 
so she had them taken from her rooms. This 
went on until one afternoon Crane made a dis- 
covery. After that there seemed to be a gulf be- 
tween man and wife. Claire was totally indiffer- 
ent, but it was her condition that made her so. 
Crane was a fated wreck, drifting to a whirling 
cesspool to be swept in and drowned in oblivion'. 

A man kills a woman out of jealousy and frenzy; 
before the deed is done he can not live without her. 
A woman kills a man whom she has given her 
honor and soul — yet, after the victim is dead 


40 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


she will calm and live until the trial ends. If 
either had not been slain, both woman and man 
would have been crazy. A queer state of things — 
to kill the idol of your soul, the idol you love. 
What a strange mixture the human brain is? But 
such reasoning is met with the refutation that this 
is not love, it is a sensual insatiate morbid insanity. 
Whatever it is. Nature plays queer pranks, and 
the only way to eradicate the evil is to begin and 
purify life. How is law to inquire into every 
family history, to forbid marriage between deaf 
and dumb and blind, between those who have 
any blood disease, all those who suffer with any 
tendency to lung or chronic affections, nervous 
or skin troubles? To begin it were to confine 
lunatics, imbeciles, epileptics; to destroy all mon- 
sters, shut up museums that tend to influence 
mothers and women who are enciente. To confine 
in prison every man or woman who wilfully de- 
ceives their intended wife or husband. Every day 
you read of some sad heart-rending page in some 
family. A young man and woman marry, an off- 
spring comes into the world deformed, deficient 
in limb or intellect. Trace that deformity, or 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE;? 41 

deficiency, and what do you find? Some family 
history that is weakened through a father’s de- 
bauchery, a mother’s weakness. You will rise up 
and say that it is not the child’s fault, that life is 
dear to that deformed creature. If the deaf and 
dumb marry, they are like two brutes, their affec- 
tion is centered only in the sexual gratification. 
God gave them that, you say, nature is nature. 

Men are weaker, the race of human beings grow- 
ing indifferent. Marriage is a convenience, a matter 
of self-interest. What is the trouble? What is the 
matter? Some great blunder somewhere. If the 
young man would only wake up and take a mate 
who was strong, sensible, healthy — what children 
would come in the world, what a new race 
of beings ! The Grecians and Romans fell 
through weakness. The present day presents 
more cases of nervousness than ever before. With 
every case of nerve decay begins a new regime 
of loose morals and debauchery. Women who are 
tempted and fall do so through the existing want 
of support — many seek it through the lack of 
strength of moral tone. They prefer to live a 
life of shame, because somewhere, through pre- 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


natal influence, that curse exists. This makes them 
lazy, indifferent as to what may come. There 
should be a system, a license. Begin this way to 
lessen disease. Open schools, missions; teach 
every girl in these places to know herself, to know 
what the duties of wifehood are. Show the evils 
of ignorance, teach them plainly. Give them 
healthful exercise, a free but ever watchful 
mingling with men and women. The next gene- 
ration would show a more elevating and healthful 
outcome; there would be less crime. It is a 
mighty question and most important. No laws 
can touch a man in his own home, but how many 
homes are prisons and how many prisons are 
brothels. 

Claire Cranston had sat for hours by the open 
window. The only sight that gladdened her eyes 
was the flowers that were blooming on the win- 
dow sill. The fragrance came like a breath of 
heaven to her tired self. She knew that her life 
depended upon the issue of the new life soon to 
be born. Would that new life be a perfect one, or 
would the curse of heredity taint spoil all? Know- 
ing that her own mother had died insane shortly 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 4:i 

after her own birth made her thoughtful and 
melancholy. She couldn’t understand her hus- 
band. He had been kind, loving and tender; lat- 
terly he had a sad faraway look, almost reproach 
in his eyes. He had guessed her secret, she 
thought, and only time could tell its purpose. She 
clasped her hands and raised her eyes and prayed. 
Prayers help some people so much, and in this 
belief Claire was happy. So. the days passed and 
the dark cloud was growing darker; it would be a 
fierce storm of lightning, thunder and rain. Wife 
and husband scarcely saw each other. Cranston 
was on the verge of delirium tremens or apoplexy. 
His eyes were red, his face flushed and his senses 
dulled. 

The beginning of the tragedy happened on Sun- 
day afternoon. It was four o’clock. He was alone 
in the library. The wood fire had burned low, the 
room was full of scents of the cedar ceiling and 
casements; the bowl of mignonette and pansies 
lent theirs, too. He had dozed. Claire had one 
“of her spells” and he was terribly bored. 

“D love,” he said, “what a fool to bring all 

this curse upon me. Gad ! I have a mind to end it.’^ 


44 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


Then his better self conquered. He must not 
leave his wife. The great strong man put his head in 
his hands and his thoughts were the saddest, most 
remorseful that ever a human being suffered. He 
yawned, got up, looked out on the park, and 
gaped again. Suddenly a curious looking book- 
case and writing desk combined attracted his at- 
tention. He had seen it before, certainly, but not 
in this room. What ailed him he knew not, but 
suddenly a chill went through his body. He felt 
certain that that desk held a secret, a secret of his 
wife’s father. Why he thought so he couldn’t tell. 
The piece of furniture became to him an object of 
intense fascination. The Westminster clock rung 
out its eight bells twice in merry chimes, but he 
did not hear. The desk had been in his wife’s room, 
but she had ordered it out. She said it reminded her 
of ghosts. They humored her whim and placed 
it temporarily in the library. She had never opened 
it. It came from her father’s study with a few 
pieces of old antique furniture and trunks. What it 
held she did not know, she did not care. For 
months her mind had been on her approaching 
confinement. Crane Cranston went to the desk. 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


45 


It was locked, a simple lock; the key hung on a 
little peg on the side of it. He sat down. A sense 
of weakness, almost faintness, came over him. Is 
it really true, he thought, that the mind is a sort 
of mental telegraph in such matters, and that the 
prescience, or intuition, or whatever it is, tells us 
cf what is to come? He opened the door. Noth- 
ing but papers, all assorted. He took them out 
one by one. Each bundle was tied and labeled: — 
“Sermons,” “Taxes,” “Bills,” “Household Re- 
ceipts,” etc. Two hours passed. A servant 
knocked. He paid no heed. He came in the 
second time. 

“Mr. Cranston, your wife is asleep, and dinner 
is waiting.” 

“Defer the dinner an hour. Fll be ready to eat 
it then!” 

The master’s voice was hoarse with suppressed 
anxiety. The servant lighted the gas. The room 
blazed in sudden beauty, all its dark red tones 
fully lighted. Suddenly there was a suppressed 
exclamation, and he held in his hand a bundle of 
letters. His eyes lost their seeing for a moment, 
he swayed as a tree in the wind; he was as pale as 


46 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


death. He hastily rang a bell, closed the door^. 
locked it and hung the key on its peg. 

“Bring me some brandy,” he said to the servant 
who appeared in answer to his ring. “I shall want 
no dinner to-night. I shall go to the club. At- 
tend to Mrs. Cranston.” In his hand he held a 
square package and written in the hand of his 
wife’s dead father were these words: 

- “Letters from Mary Cranston.” 

Crane Cranston was dizzy at the discovery. 
Mary Cranston was his father’s sister. What new 
mystery was this? He drank his brandy, went to 
his room, bolted the door and sat down. What 
he read destroyed all his happiness, all hopes 
of reform. He was the blase dare devil again. 
The letters were from the girl whom the family 
worshipped. She suddenly disappeared, had run 
away with a hostler — married him, they said; had 
given birth to a daughter, and died insane. The 
hostler was the minister, and had changed his 
name to Carrington. Claire Carrington was first 
cousin to Crane Cranston. His attraction, his- 
love, was explained. The family history, the look 
of his wife, strange and familiar, had attracted him^ 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


47 


The story we have read — now he knew it all. 

Crane Cranston went out into the night. His 
companions were elated at his heavy drinking, his 
bets, his jollity and good comradeship. 

“Quite like the old boy he used tO' be!” 

“Ah, yes! he has a wife who knows how to be a 
wife, and let him run loose, ha! ha!” 

How they laughed in their coarse style. They 
didn’t know that under it all Crane Cranston was 
thinking of one thing — his wife — his cousin — his 
belief in fatality — his efforts to have the legislature 
pass the law. If, and he sobbed, if it should be. 

The events came quickly. The nurse an- 
nounced to Mr. Cranston his wife was very ill. 
Something was wrong, her strength was being 
rapidly exhausted, it was unnatural to suffer so 
long. Cranston listened, and they said afterwards 
that he smiled — a sort of grim smile with a sar- 
donic expression in it. “Can I see her?” 

“No, the doctor has forbidden anyone; her life 
hangs on a thread.” 

Hours, it seemed days to him, passed. Every 
fifteen minutes he asked for tidings. He was like 
Si dumb brute, a dog, waiting for a bone. He 


48 WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 

heard the door open, the one adjoining his wife’s 
boudoir. The nurse came towards him. Did she 
come slowly, or was it his impatience? 

“Well! Well!” he cried. 

“Well! Well!” she answered. 

“Well! what’s the matter?” 

“All right, Mr. Cranston, a child is born.” 

“Thank God!” he said, “and she, Claire, how is 
Claire?” His voice was husky with emotion, tears 
were in his eyes, his brows were heavy in cold 
sweat. 

“Claire! Claire!” he called. 

She heard him in her room; ’twas the last voice 
she recognized on earth. 

“Nurse!” he called quickly, as the attendant was 
moving away, “boy or girl?” 

No answer. 

“Boy or girl?” he demanded, a smile on his 
face now. 

“I don’t know, sir,” she said. 

“Don’t know ! Why, why — ” 

He didn’t finish as there was a cry from the 
inner chamber. The nurse hurried away. All was 
confusion in a moment. The husband ran quickly 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 49 

to the apartment. Pale as death, with a smile that 
the angels give you, he saw his wife. The win- 
dow was open, the soft air came through the case- 
ment, the light lace fluttered slightly, and the 
shadowy light seemed like some ghostly hand that 
beckoned you on to the unknown land. Still as 
death was this charnel house. Claire’s soul had 
gone to her Maker. The moon was just rising, 
throwing its silver beams upon the marble face. 
Crane Cranston was dumb with anguish. His 
wife was dead, he knew it, realized it. In his 
heart he was sorry; his grief was deep, yet silent. 
Silent natures grieve the most. He leaned against 
the table and looked upon the dead. All the events 
of his life came up and went like some kaleido- 
scope. He viewed them all. It was strange, he 
thought, that no one disturbed him, no one came 
to tell him. He did not know that they were seek- 
ing him. Suddenly he thought of his child and he 
smiled. There was something left. Before that 
child grew up he would be dead. If a boy and he 
inherited his father’s weakness, he would never 
know it — he would be dead and gone. If a boy. If a 
girl, she too would outlive him. He turned to 


50 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


leave the room. A sudden noise, like a gurgle, ar- 
rested his attention. He was as white as a sheet, 
and yet he turned whiter. A strange sense of ter- 
rible isolation, a sense of something to come, a 
complete fear filled him. He was getting to be a 
coward, and yet his superb brain, the only thing 
he listened to on earth, reasoned it out with him. 
His brain reasoned that he was losing control of 
himself, his passions were making him weak and 
the weaker he grew the more cowardly he became. 
Again the sound “chic-chic — lick-chic,’’ as if some 
animal had given vent to a whine, a slight rust- 
ling, and again all was still. The curtains still 
blew in and out; the room was spectral in its 
illumination by the moon. 

“Great God! What is it?” 

Crane Cranston stood petrified, and was gazing 
at his wife’s bier, spellbound and fascinated. Was 
his mind gone, was he at last attacked with mania 
delirium, was he mad? What was the object that 
seemed to glide and creep and slowly move to and 
fro? Instead of his wife’s beautiful form, cold in 
death, there was another face, repulsive, wrinkled, 
old, elfish, devilish, looking at him. 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


51 


“A light! A light!” he shrieked and fell heavily 
against the table. The noise and jar brought an 
immediate response. The nurse rushed in, the 
butler followed and the maid. 

All was confusion. The master lay on the floor 
foaming at the mouth. Above the uproar, he 
heard a terrified whisper from the nurse, “He 
has seen it!” 

The family physician came; he was a man of 
very few words. 

“Keep him quiet; the great shock of his wife’s 
death and the other disappointment has unmanned 
him.” 

The hours crept steadily; twelve struck, one, 
two, three, four, and the gray light was begin- 
ning to steal the night away, when the door of 
Claire’s room opened, and her husband entered. 
He staggered and almost fell; he had drank heav- 
and his brain still held the impression of some 
horror. His dogged resolution to ferret it out 
nerved him on. The room was chill and in utter 
darkness, no sound, no breath broke the stillness. 
He unsteadily lighted a match and applied it to a 
candle on the small side table. The faint light 


53 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


brought all the shadows huddled together; they 
swayed and flickered. His eyes were fixed on the 
bed. There in glorious beauty lay his wife. He 
raised the cloth; she was fast asleep in the other 
world. He lifted one hand and kissed it, bent 
down and touched her forehead. 

“Mr. Crane, don’t do that!” 

It was the nurse who spoke. She had heard 
the sound of steps and opened a door leading to 
an alcove. 

“Martha, where is my child?” 

Martha didn’t seem to hear; some nervous chill 
had come over her; she shook like an aspen leaf. 
It was some minutes and neither spoke. Crane 
Cranston wheeled suddenly round and, seizing 
the nurse’s arm, cried: 

“Is that dead, too? Tell me the truth. I can 
bear it” — and the man was quiet and waited the 
tidings patiently. 

The nurse tried to speak, and finally said: 

“You had better wait till morning, sir. The 
doctor thinks you will be all the better for it.” 

Mr. Crane glared at the nurse, and what demon 
tempted him we shall never know, but some sus- 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 53 

picion, he hardly knew, made him suspect her, or 
some intuitive thought of some horror coming 
made him say: 

“Now, this minute, woman, I will know the 
truth!” 

Martha led the way. She was afraid. What was 
coming she knew not. She hastily crossed the 
room, went to a bed in the corner, and pointing 
hurriedly to the center left the room imme- 
diately and entered again the one where the 
dead lay. The room Crane was in was a large 
square room, with a deep bay window. All blinds 
were up, the red dawn was breaking, the birds 
were chirping, a student lamp burned on the 
table. The room was plainly furnished; it was an 
ante-room and was to have been used as the nurs- 
ery. Crane Cranston was as gentle as a lamb when 
he approached the bed. His thoughts ran on when 
he was a baby, how his father came and knelt — 
he had been told of it by his mother^ — and un- 
folded the covering and kissed his child; how, as 
he grew, he would take him in his arms and cud- 
dle and tickle him and play by the hour. Crane 
Cranston was now a father, his child should re- 


54 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


ceive care and love. He, too, would not be ut- 
terly desolate. He was leaning over the bed 
ready to take up his child, when the unearthly 
sound came again: 

“Chic-chic, chic-chic.” 

Again that awful fear came upon him. The 
blood surged to. his head. What was the noise? 
Was he again to fall in a fit? Was he to die of 
delirium tremens? Yet he had felt better, stronger 
within the hour. The sun came up over the 
horizon, the birds sang out loudly, day had begun, 
the room was light and all shadows dispelled. 

“Come, baby, your father wants to see you. You 
have no mother, but papa will love you.” 

He raised the cover and with his hands was about 
to lift his child, when the unearthly cry again 
sounded. He gazed in horror — there in place of 
a baby was a monster. With a stifled cry he 
leaned against the headboard and gasped for 
breath. The thing was alive and blinked like an 
owl. It had a double face, four eyes, two noses, 
two mouths, two chins, but only one ear for each 
face; the two mouths were separated by means 
of a skin bridge. The noise seemed to come from 


WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE? 


55 


the throat. The head seemed to sit squarely on 
the shoulders, the ears touched the neck; they 
were abnormally developed and were pointed like 
horns ; the body was long and slender, shaped like 
a fish ; the extremities were grown together, like a 
huge foot. Crane Cranston gazed as if he had 
turned to stone. His right hand began to move 
convulsively, his fingers opening and shutting as 
if he were trying to grasp a support. The door 
opened and the nurse was coming in. She stopped 
spellbound. Crane Cranston bent over the terri- 
ble malformation; his eyes seemed to bulge from 
their sockets. The monster gave sound again to 
the peculiar gurgle; it was the last. The fingers of 
the father closed on the would-be neck of the 
monster and strangled it. A shriek from Martha, 
a loud clanging of the bell, and servants hurried 
in. The sight froze their blood ; they never forgot 
it. The monster was dead, and the father was 
dying with an apoplectic seizure. Only one sen- 
tence they heard as he fell heavily backward, and 
it sounded like a hoarse whisper, “What would 
you have done?’' and in a few hours he was dead. 
















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